Swan Song
by wordsmith-storyweaver
Summary: To every generation, a champion is born. She alone stands against the vampire, the demon, and all the forces of darkness. She is the Savior.


**A/N: Okay, so this 'verse idea, dropping CS and OUAT into the world of BtVS, has been percolating in the very back of my mind for a while now. I started writing what would essentially be an "ending" or a one-shot that would have a LOT of exposition at the beginning: first meeting, introducing characters we wouldn't necessarily meet but who would establish and ground it as an OUAT story, etc. But, me being me and all, I decided that I would probably want to actually write these mentions of other stories as their own, fully realized pieces. So, these will not strictly follow all of the same season high-points of the Buffy 'verse, but you'll probably recognize who the different characters are supposed to be (although some will be mash-ups). Be warned: the endgame I have in mind is very dark, very in keeping with where Emma is at right now as the Black Swan/the Dark One.**

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He's up on stage with his best friends and their band, Beyond Alliance Control, when he sees her—flashes of shiny blonde hair, creamy skin, and sultry green eyes as she sways to the beat of the song make him miss an few notes. The moment doesn't go into slow motion and time doesn't stop, but he's fairly certain that his heart does. More than anything, he wishes he could throw aside his guitar, hop off stage, and ask her to dance with him. His hesitation, however, doesn't go unnoticed. Jefferson's riding too high on the energy of the crowd or whatever drugs he's on tonight to notice or falter in the lyrics, but August shoots him a death glare from behind the drum set and Victor just grins wickedly; this is their first night of a week-long trial gig at the Poisoned Apple, the only night club in their small town, and they can't afford a major screw-up.

Once they finish the song, Victor knowingly winks at Killian before jumping down from the stage onto the dance floor and instantly wraps his arms around the waists of two groupies. August nudges him aside and grabs Jefferson, peeling him away from the microphone and taking him toward the bar to get some water; his frustrated look tells Killian that he won't be alone for long out in the back alley during their break.

Sure enough, Killian has only been relaxing in the cooler night air for five minutes before he hears an exaggerated, "What the fuck, man?!"

August slams the door shut, every line in his body screaming annoyed diva. "I'm sorry, Booth; it won't happen again."

"It better not, Jones. It's bad enough that we can't count on Jeff to stay sober and stop improvising."

"I know, but did you see her? That new girl who was dancing by herself?" Being in a band didn't necessarily mean that you were instantly connected to the higher echelons of popularity at Storybrooke High, but August Booth was pretty much a walking cliché. If anyone had arrived in their small town, he usually had their name, date of birth, school ID, and life story before lunch.

"You mean Swan? Mysterious blonde bombshell with a juvenile record? Yeah, she transferred here from Boston; her mom decided she needed to get away from the big bad city to help her out with her delinquency issues. Breaking curfew, starting fights, petty theft… She may look like an angel, but she's way out of your league, Jones. Leave her to Victor or Jefferson and save yourself the heartache."

Two drunks stumble into the alley while August explains just how bad an idea it is for Killian to get hung up on someone unlikely to make him happy. The men are singing, badly, some sort of Irish drinking song—he recognizes the tune as an old one from before the American Revolution, but only because he audited a musical history course at UM Portland. And it's only because he's brushing off his friend's arm and closer to the door that he isn't grabbed. One of the not-so-drunks wraps August in a bear-hug from behind and fucking sinks his teeth into the drummer's neck.

Killian backs up and bangs loudly on the steel door, warily watching as the one guy continues to suck on his best friend's neck and the other keeps inching his way toward him. He does his best to get his arm up under his attacker's throat, but the other guy just throws his head back and laughs, revealing a gleaming set of fangs and a face twisted and contorted. With a strength that snaps the bones in Killian's arm, his attacker easily knocks the limb away. "Go ahead and scream, little one. No one's gonna hear ya."

"Well, except for you and me. And himself of course. Your buddy and his? Not so much a part of the audience anymore." Killian's assailant spins around, letting him go; he tries to swallow back the pain as he cradles his arm close to his chest, but he can't help collapsing to the ground in agony. In the inadequate light, he barely registers the fight happening a few feet away; he can only focus on the wide, staring eyes of his friend. It takes his brain longer to process than it should that his friend is dead and his own life is still in danger.

Whoever his rescuer is, they know what they're doing and he recognizes a mix of martial arts styles from his years of classes taken to fulfill P.E. requirements. He silently promises himself that he'll pay attention more and hit the gym more often if he makes it out of this alive. He scans the area, looking for something to use as a weapon; a rush of shame floods him as he catches up to speed and realizes that the person currently saving his ass is a woman. He crawls carefully toward the dumpster, using the dented metal and the brick of the alley wall to help him get on his feet.

His attacker slams the woman into the wall nearby, hard enough that Killian thinks her spine should be broken with the impact. Powdered grout and concrete puffs into the air from behind her, but she pushes right back with a vicious kick to the guy's midsection. Killian spots a large brick that looks ready to fall and lunges toward the opposite wall to pry it free. Finally armed, he hesitates to strike because at the speed the fight is moving, he's just as likely to hit his savior as her opponent. Frustrated, he yells. "Hey!"

His attacker turns so that finally Killian can fully see his face for the first time, redefining for him the phrase "only a mother could love." But his distraction works, allowing the woman to reach for an honest to God stake and slam it into the guy's chest. It looks like rapid internal combustion, the body glowing slightly before exploding into a cloud of burning embers and ash. In that moment, the rapidly extinguishing corpse illuminates the face of his rescuer—the blonde temptress he had noticed earlier, Swan.

"You saved me."

She cocks her head to the side, giving him an amused smirk. "It's kinda what I do. If you plan on taking your breaks out here, I suggest keeping something sharp and pointy on you."

"Th-thank—"

"You're welcome." Before he can finish his thought, she runs toward the end of the alley, launches herself up onto to the top of the dumpster, and vaults over the brick wall into night. Looking down at his swelling arm and the body of his friend—the only evidence of an attack aside from the rapidly disappearing piles of ash—everything suddenly clicks into place. August is dead, blood still leaking from the two bite marks in his neck; fangs; superhuman strength and speed… He just barely survived being attacked by a vampire, and he was saved by a beautiful blonde ass-kicker. Everything he's ever known about his world is wrong; and yet someone plans to make it right again.

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 _To every generation, a champion is born. She alone stands against the vampire, the demon, and all the forces of darkness. She is the Savior._


End file.
